Skeletons
by DeathByMushrooms
Summary: Now in his sixties and in failing health, Derek Shepherd writes a letter to his ex-wife in an attempt to make peace with his past. One-shot. Very angst-ridden Addek... sort of.


**Skeletons**

I got the idea for this while listening to Johnny Cash's raw, painful, inspiring cover of Nine Inch Nails' _Hurt _and thinking about my current Addek fanfiction. I implore you, if you've never heard this song, to go find the video on youtube. You will not be disappointed.

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Dear Addison,

I hope this letter finds you and yours well. How is Pete? Does he still hate me?

I'm sorry for that; I simply do not know how to say what needs to be said. I suppose instead of attempting affability and pseudo concern, I will just cut to the chase.

To begin with, Addie—my Addie… I'm sorry for ignoring you all these years. I apologize from the bottom of my heart—whatever is left of it—for never acknowledging your existence after you told me about our son. Though I think I have long lost the right to use that phrase, haven't I? Though I am now quite plainly in the last weeks of life, and Jack is grown, all that I can wish to have is one look at his face. I know I seemingly so easily denied him in exchange for an easier life with Meredith, but it has haunted me for twenty-five years. I've never even had the privilege of looking into my only son's eyes. I wouldn't dream of asking to see him. Is he even aware of my existence? And Pete is his father, I know that. But if I close my eyes and really focus, I think I can picture him. I hope he has your eyes. In fact, I hope he is just like you; that he inherited your strength and courage, and not this foolish old man's weak spine.

I know he's married now and that he graduated top of his class from Columbia. I hear he wants nothing to do with the medical field, though; that he's invested in some organic food retail company—I guess he got that from Pete, eh? But that's _all_ I know, and for the last few years, it's been my biggest regret. I won't lie: I sometimes wish I could change things. But then I think of him; of you and of Pete and your life with him; of Meredith and our girls… And I realize that my idiotic mistakes were perhaps for the best. From what I hear, Jack turned out well, and Pete seems a decent man—something you have always deserved. That is to say, he at least never hurt you the way I did.

And, oh, I know I did. For a little while, after you wrote me that letter telling me you were pregnant with Jack, I could block it out. I could pretend that nothing had ever happened; that you didn't even exist. But every morning, I would wake up to my devoted wife, and a little piece of me would die. Denial only takes a man so far for so long. I know it doesn't mean much now, but I always wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you that I had made the wrong decisions; that _you_ were what was perfect for me. And even when Meredith had our first daughter, I couldn't focus because all I wanted was to be near you and our child. But for once in my wretched life, I was able to suppress what I wanted in favor of what was best. I just hope that you saw that, Addison. I was a gutless coward those first few years of his life and I do not deny it. But even when the regret and guilt and yearning to know him threatened to tear me apart, I kept my distance. It would have only confused him and made his life harder if I had entered the picture so late with no excuse for my absence. If I had been in his shoes in a situation like that, I would have been angry. I know I wouldn't have wanted to see me.

And of course, there was you. There was always you, Ad. From the first time I saw you, you were all I could think about. I let my ego come between us when you slept with Mark. I let you shoulder the blame while I had my fun in Seattle. Then I chose her over you because she was the safe bet. Her so-called baggage was nothing compared to our marred and mangled history. But even after I had won her and you were living by the beach—living the dream, I had to have you. And I did the worst thing I've ever done. I convinced you that I still loved you (and I did, Addison, though it may not seem like it now). And I charmed you into bed with me. But I left you while you slept without so much as a note—again, because I was spineless; unable to bear the responsibility and repercussions of my actions. I pushed it to the back of my mind until you told me so emotionlessly that you were going to have my child. And, true to my nature, I never even replied. I simply carried on with life.

I apologize for dragging these skeletons out of their closets. I have carried all of this with me for more than two decades, and I think it is time that I let go of it all. I need you to know, because for thirty years I have been unfair to you. You at least deserve the truth. I have been so concerned with my image as a "good man" that I could never be bothered with actually living up to it. I know now, when it's far too late, that I am little better than pond scum; that the entirety of my life has been a stain on my father's good name. I'm almost glad he died when he did. I would be ashamed to have him see what became of the one person he counted on to carry on his line. A good job I made of that duty, when my only son bears another man's name.

Speaking of that, I think I owe you a very late "congratulations" in regards to your marriage. I know it took place twenty-four years ago, but he really fought for you, and I admire that. I was never a good fighter. I knew he was in love with you when I was in L.A., by the way. It made me feel so goddamn defensive, like I still had some claim on you. But I guess that plan to keep you as mine really backfired.

Do you remember the day _we_ were married? I hope you do. I hope that at least that day, that one bright spot on our intersecting paths, is still with you. In a perfect world, I would wish that you would look back on it and smile, but I won't ask for too much. Maybe for you, marrying me was the biggest mistake of your life. Perhaps the way I regret letting you go, you regret ever having found me. I wouldn't blame you if that were true. But possibly you curse my existence before bed every night, but then thank God that I gave you your son. A part of me wishes that I could know, but the other half knows that I probably won't even send this. I don't know if that makes me even more a coward or the better man for once.

I think it may be best to leave it there. Assuming this actually reaches you, I hope that I've not upset you too much, and that you've not just thrown this, unopened, in with the trash. That's not so much because I want you to forgive me, but more because you should know now that I'm anonymously leaving Jack his share of my estate. Meredith doesn't know. If she ever comes looking for it, I really don't care what you tell her. It's what belongs to him—what he would've gotten anyway if his father hadn't been a piece of trash.

I doubt you can believe me, Addison, but I'm sorry for it all. I hope you can forgive me, at least when I'm gone. And … I love you. I've never stopped.

See you in the next life.  
Your old friend,

_Derek_


End file.
